


Don't Forget

by nightmarefever



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Comfort, Fantasizing, M/M, Solo, one-sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmarefever/pseuds/nightmarefever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his failed love confession, Komaeda contemplates what he's just done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Forget

**Author's Note:**

> someone on tumblr asked me to write a solo ko fic so. here goes!

The bed caves. The wind whistles. The rain beginning against the window hits subtly.

Komaeda doesn’t stir from bedsheets. Sitting in the middle of them and never wanting to leave. He finally moves his hands from his face, not tear-streaked, certainly not wet and stained in shivers. Why would he be crying? Why possibly?

_Why did I say that?_

He’s nervous, he tells himself. Doesn’t want anymore hope to vanish from the island. There’s so little of them left now it would just be a shame. He doesn’t want to be left last, trash floating in the ocean where once life bloomed.

Luck’s never on his side.

It’ll ravish the survivors until all that stands is despair. Feverish regret and a sense of longing -- _longing for what why are you longing for--_

The pillows wrinkle beneath him, no longer quite so soft and comforting as they’d played all these nights before. Like bricks, like rocks digging into his very core.

He could be elsewhere. Not in this empty cottage.

_I told him I was lying._

But it’s better this way, right? Someone like him, something like Nagito Komaeda with no real talent, no real presence, no real lasting meaning, people like him aren’t targets of goodwill. No flavor of joy, not tan arms wrapped up a small frame and a face pressed into a chest so hair tickles chins. No pressing lips or hands or bodies or limbs or _anyone_.

Just...no one.

His body feels on fire. When doesn’t it lately?

_It’s better this way, right? I did the right thing...right?_

Fluttering thoughts make the heat worse, tears burning at the corners of red eyes. There’s always so many outcomes. So many directions to turn. Outside of this one, this present, lies a future that just closed but he has the fortune of still pretending, for a moment, he didn’t personally swallow the key.

The boy looks so warm and inviting. Soft. Kind. Komaeda sees the smile that perks up on his face as he hears what needs to be said, a rarity that today is shining for him and him alone.

It’s an expression that never leaves. Following them to _his_ cottage to lie in a bed he’s only ever dreamed about being near but now he can see it. He’s being _lead_ to it! He’s being put on it and held. Tenderly, being comforted like he’s always wanted to be but especially by _him_. His jacket on the floor, sobbing into a chest with giggles on his lips.

Even in his fantasies, Komaeda can’t stop crying. It’s all so beyond him. Overwhelming sore emotions and the constant voice in his head saying he wants to leave and run away and never come back.

Because he doesn’t deserve this. No matter how much he wants it.

Heavy breaths join a numbing headache. The butterflies greet new guests -- shame and guilt. They step in time with his hands lowering to his jeans and Komaeda closes his eyes, faces away from himself so maybe he can pretend he isn’t doing this himself.

Out of respect. Out of empty hope.

It’s all he’s ever had, after all. Things never change.

_“You make me so happy, you know that, right?”_

The number of times that voice has run through his head...it’s unbelievable, providing such reality. Every sound is rehearsed in his daydreams. Every word beating on his heart.

_“Can you say it again?”_

Komaeda lifts his hips to shake his bottoms off. Eyes still closed. He’s not going to look. Never, never. His hand’s icy on his stomach, frozen on fabric’s bandwidth. Sharp like pins in his flesh when he _knows_ how other’s hands would feel. Like fire in his gut. Travelling as there’s lips on his and on his face and on his neck, marking the boy forevermore as _his_.

Komaeda’s voice chokes out as the cold burns heat. “I-I love you, Hinata.” Back lifts, knees bumping together when he grips his whole hand around. He steadies himself. Body flattens back out and for a moment, there’s temptation. Maybe if he looks, he can see the boy at the end of his bed. Coming closer until there’s no space between them.

 _“Nagito.”_ Hums, purrs break his ears. _“Nagito, you can say my name. I want you to. I trust you.”_

Fingering tapping on his lips, Komaeda almost giggles at the thought of it. Being allowed that honor. Hinata’s far too kind to give it to him -- that’s why he never should be allowed to. “I love you...Hajime.” The name feels so sweet on his tongue. He says it again.

“H-hajime.” It’s the best thing he’s ever dared say. It makes his hips twitch, groin scold.

His hands would be so big, Hinata’s. Komaeda’s fingers are so long, so bony but not the other’s. They look firm, soft, strong. Like nothing he’s ever felt before, especially nothing that’s touched him before. “ _Hajime_ …” They would glide slowly, pump him in comfort that makes him groan.

Hinata always kisses so well. Gentle on sensitive skin. The boy is so _gentle_ with him in ways he never should be. Komaeda doesn’t deserve the light pecks or total trust. In reality, there’d never be a chance in hell he could find such kindness. He never wants Hinata to be so kind to him.

_“I love you so much, Nagito.”_

 Getting off to the thought of him daring to like him. _How pathetic is that?_ Someone like him...someone so revolting...why would someone so pure want him?

_“It’s silly--but I want you, Nagito, I really need you.”_

Komaeda hears his own moaning. Covering his mouth hardly helps. Just the thought of them make his eyes burn but he tries hes best to squeeze tighter til he has no chance of anything rolling again.

_“For so long. I know that’s weird but...I trust you.”_

He can imagine exactly how it happens, right down to how Hinata shakes as he sits down, hands tangled in white hair, voice breaking and begging. He’d keep asking if Komaeda was okay. _“Tell me if you want to stop, alright? I don’t care how much I want you if you don’t want the same.”_ Most of his words are simple comforts because that’s what Hinata does best -- comfort him. Comfort everyone. Even just standing by him makes everything feel so...real. Komaeda’s never felt real before, like anything but a player in someone else’s game. But Hinata grounds him in ways nobody else has. Ways nobody else has tried.

Like he might have held Komaeda on his doorstep, stroked his hair as he sobbed because what else would happen if he told him the truth and Hinata didn’t run away? If he stayed and told him he was the only world he’d ever known and Hinata just kissed his forehead and said he knew.

Like he would have said he loved him back. If Komaeda would have had the guts to actually let himself have just this one thing, just this one person. To be selfish for once in his life.

There’s the moaning again. It mixes with hiccups and into the sounds Hinata makes each time he lifts. Komaeda doesn’t notice he’s practically drooling all over his hand, fingers pressed into clenched teeth.

He can almost feel the weight crashing down above. The hands holding his face as he’s kissed with passion not even angels deserve but when it’s from one, who can do anything but melt? Angels don’t mind getting drool on their lips. They give beautiful laughs as their noses touch yours. They keep eye contact even when your eyes are the ugliest shade of green on Earth. This angel only wants to look at him, Komaeda. He trusts him, he wants him, he needs him, he loves him.

_“It’s better than I imagined...”_

Like he would sink to this level. Komaeda’s tried thinking about him daring to be so low. But imagining Hinata groaning over Komaeda of all people, actually thinking about his hands bringing him to peak with stifled whines of his name? It makes his aftermath feel so much worse than it always does. It’s too unrealistic.

_“Nagito, keep going---f-forever and ever.”_

Toes are curling. It’s silly, he thinks, that this could last longer than only a few sickly gasps for air. Hinata would know that! He told him he has no stamina. But then again, coming from such human dirt, nobody would give a damn to recall.

The pale boy, the shameless luckster lets himself gasp names again. The holding hand has to pull his shirt up. Just in case it stains over the red and someone notices.

Even if he almost wants someone to notice.

Maybe Hinata would notice and want to be there to brace his chest, keep the shirt away, swallow everything until Komaeda’s knees give out, body too overwhelmed.

Maybe Hinata would notice and punch him.

Or scold him. Hate him. Let him know it’s disgusting how little he cares.

When Hinata’s coming above him, gasping into his bitten neck, he asks for it. He pleads with Komaeda because he needs it so badly. _“Please--you deserve to do it. God I want it -- N-Nagito, please--”_ And making Hinata happy is important. Bringing out the rare smile is important.

It’s hot on his stomach, the muscles clenching so tightly the skin strained over his ribs may snap. Breath sounds so cracked and fragile, catching on his throat. Komaeda’s mouth just lies wide with gasps with the tilt of his neck.

It’s so hot on his stomach.

He should clean himself but he’s too ashamed to even look. Just breathe, hands going above his head. A twitch plays over his body, against his tight thighs.

Hinata would love to cuddle, especially afterwards. There’d be nothing more but kisses and giggles. _“I love you so much -- I want you to never forget how much, okay?”_

And Komaeda would want to cuddle with him, always and forever.

He smiles to himself, trying not to laugh at the irony. He’d start crying again -- he already is. So he holds his head in his hands again, cheeks already wet once more against his palms.

“From the bottom of my heart,” he hiccups, grinning wide, “I won’t forget.”

**  
  
  
  
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